


Stitch me up

by antimone_ii



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-02 20:04:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16793806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antimone_ii/pseuds/antimone_ii
Summary: Peter finds that he much prefers Deadpool's noisy snoring to the chilling silence of hanging out with a lifeless corpse.





	Stitch me up

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Kinktober '18. Prompts: size difference, scars, self-sacrifice

It takes awhile to peel Deadpool out of his tattered suit. The nylon of his undershirt is melted in some places, adhering to his rough skin, and too scared to try and tug at it, Peter instead drags Deadpool home and hauls him into his tiny bathtub.

It’s an uncomfortable fit for him, and given Deadpool’s got half a foot on him at least, Peter has to settle for letting Deadpool’s left leg dangle out of the tub so the rest of him can fit in as best as possible. He fills the tub with lukewarm water, grimacing as the water immediately stains with blood and grime. He’s just about finished peeling off the rest of Deadpool’s burnt suit when he comes back to life.

He’s draining the water when Deadpool jolts awake and a hand goes flying through the air. Peter ducks it neatly. “You’re alive!”

“Stop tryna steal my organs!” Deadpool shouts, reaching out with his other hand and grabbing Peter around the neck.

Peter gently unwraps Deadpool’s hands from around his throat. “You’re okay, I’m not stealing your organs,” he says, leaning back out of his reach.

Deadpool pats his torso as if checking to feel his organs inside, then looks up at Peter suspiciously. “Who the hell are you?”

“Oh.” Peter touches his face, realizing he’d taken his mask off. “It’s me, um, Spider-Man,” he says.

There’s a long moment where Peter worries that Deadpool is going to either grab him by the throat again or run away, but thankfully he does neither. He composes his thoughts and asks in a quiet voice, “But what about your identity?”

Peter shrugs. “You saved my life. I dunno, I feel like we’re past that anyways.” He offers Deadpool a tentative smile. “C’mon, I have some clothes that might fit you.” He grabs his towel and hands it to Deadpool, rinsing the rest of the discolored water down the drain.

Deadpool stands shakily, his legs still not fully healed. Peter quickly moves to his side but is waved off. “I got it Webs, you already dragged my sorry ass back here,” he says gruffly.

Still hovering anxiously, Peter leads Deadpool out of the tiny bathroom into the rest of his cramped apartment. He doesn’t make it much further though, his knees buckling as something in his ankle snaps in protest. Peter quickly goes to grab him but he’s taken down, and they collapse onto the ratty sofa in Peter’s living room. “ _Oof_. Mind if I take a quick nap, Webs? Getting exploded really takes it outta me,” Deadpool says apologetically.

“Sure, ‘s fine,” Peter mumbles, his face smushed between the couch cushion and Deadpool’s broad chest. He wasn’t kidding - Deadpool’s snoring loudly within the minute, but Peter finds that he much prefers his noise to the chilling silence of hanging out with a lifeless corpse.

Peter tries wiggling free, but when Deadpool snorts out of his slumber, he quiets down and pats his bald head soothingly. “Shh, it’s okay, go back to sleep.”

He resigns himself to being Deadpool’s couch cushion and instead watches his chest rise and fall in deep, slow breaths. This isn’t the first time Deadpool’s saved his life - to be honest, Deadpool probably throws himself into lethal situations with a little more generosity than he should. But it still stokes something warm and fond in Peter’s chest, and he frees his arms enough that he can wrap them around Deadpool’s broad shoulders.

He thinks to himself that he might order Thai food when he’s freed, since he has maybe two cans of Spaghettios left to his name. Peter rubs his thumb over the skin of Deadpool’s bicep, tracing the ridges of his scars absently. The thick muscle of his arm is firm to the touch, and he wonders idly if Deadpool ever has to work out to maintain his bulk. He laughs at the thought of a fully suited Deadpool at the gym, maybe wearing a sweatband over his mask as he lifts barbells.

Finding himself comfortably warm under Deadpool’s weight, Peter lets himself zone out as the afternoon fades into evening. By the time Deadpool begins to stir, yawning and stretching out over Peter’s couch (and Peter), he inconveniently realizes that he’s been fantasizing about Deadpool’s beefy body while pressed flush against said beefy body, and Peter immediately goes pink with embarrassment.

“Mmmm! Morning sunshine! Oh my god, I wasn’t dreaming, Spider-Man really did bathe me and reveal his cute face,” Deadpool yawns, blinking down at Peter with a dopey grin.

“I didn’t willingly cuddle you,” Peter gripes, belatedly realizing that he still has two arms wrapped firmly around Deadpool’s shoulders.

Deadpool gives him a lazy grin. “No?”

Peter rolls his eyes, ignoring the fluttering feeling in his chest. He still doesn’t release Deadpool and, now that he’s turned around, Peter can see his face up close. It’s a nice face, really. He has full lips that pull into a wide, charming smile, and his strong jawline cuts a handsome profile. “Your eyes are blue,” Peter notices for the first time.

“ _Technically_ , I’d call ‘em periwinkle,” Deadpool says, “I think it does a better job of conveying my boyish charm and scampish nature, kind of a Dodger-esque _je ne sais quoi_ –”

Peter kisses him. Deadpool goes very still, his chapped lips pressed firm against Peter’s. They’re pleasantly full to kiss, Peter realizes, and he wants to linger, but he pulls back to give Deadpool a questioning look.

Deadpool blinks dumbly down at Peter, his mouth agape.

“Was that okay?”

He nods, and stroking a scarred thumb reverently over Peter’s cheek, he croaks, “Can we do that again?”

Peter laughs, bright and relieved. “Yeah. Yeah, I was kinda hoping so, yeah.”


End file.
